


Playing Hooky

by volti



Series: ShuMako Week 2019 [3]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Canon Compliant, F/M, Making Out, Sneaking Out, but like safe for work you feel, poor Makoto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/pseuds/volti
Summary: (v.) To stay away from school or work without permission or explanationYou know. Something Makoto never, ever does. And is very, very bad at. And finds herself doing anyway, all because of some goddamn hormones.In which Makoto leverages her presidential status in an un-presidential manner, and ends up paying dearly for it.





	Playing Hooky

**Author's Note:**

> i had a witty note that i wanted to write here and i forgot it entirely. truly we are in the cursed timeline.
> 
> anyway, pour one out for Makoto Niijima, lads :') she's gonna need it.

Here was the problem with stairwells: there was nowhere to pace without exerting more energy than it was worth, and Makoto had trouble finding the balance when getting caught was on the line.

Maybe she shouldn’t have sent that text message. It was just as risky as stepping out, after all, and she wasn’t exactly one to take risks. At least, not planned ones. And then, it wouldn’t be a risk if everything about it was so meticulous. Risks weren’t meticulous. They were impulsive, designed to push at you and occupied every cell in your brain and every bone in your body until you gave in and took it without thinking. Whoever invented them, and her lack of a penchant for one, was a real prankster.

_Meet me at the rooftop?_

The message had been burning in the pocket of her skirt for minutes that felt like hours, and she wasn’t getting anywhere.

Really, how long had she been waiting for him in the shadows of this stairwell with her phone? She couldn’t justify being out of class for very long, even if she did try to leverage any Student Council status. The fact of the matter was, she was skipping class—no matter how well she actually knew the material, and no matter how she tried to spin it. And there was an autumn draft coming in from the door to the rooftop, and it was _dark,_ and she hated the dark, hated it with every fiber in her. And her blood was pounding in her ears, and her hands were trembling with either anticipation or anxiety. It was hard to tell which one, exactly. 

All this, just for some alone time.

And Akira wasn’t even here for it, in spite of his three-word reply.

_Be right there._

Apparently he wouldn’t.

Well, no. That wasn’t entirely fair. Maybe he was just waiting for the opportune moment to ask his teacher’s permission; that was a reasonable explanation. Or maybe he was on his way up now, and she was just overthinking it again. Or maybe he’d changed his mind in the end, because he valued his studies far more and needed to stay under the radar anyway, and—

“You know,” a voice rumbled at the bottom of the steps, a smile laced in every word, “the rooftop is usually where _delinquents_ go when they’re skipping class.”

Makoto jumped to attention and stifled a scream with both hands—and then one of them slipped down to clutch at her chest. “You _scared_ me,” she hissed, and gestured for him to come up.

“Point still stands.” Akira followed her lead, but each step was still slow and deliberate, like he wanted to draw out the moment as long as he could. In the dark, he leaned back against the wall opposite her, and slid his hands into his pockets. “Hi,” he said, so gentle and well-meaning. She’d gotten accustomed enough to follow the outline of his shadow; his eyes glinted with affection, and there was a smile tugging at his lips.

“Hi,” she replied, far too high-pitched for her liking, but just soft enough. Was that _really_ the best she had in her?

Akira looked around for a moment, probably getting himself used to the dark, too. “So this is new,” he finally said.

“What is?”

“This. Usually you want to wait until we’re somewhere a little more… private? You’d even pick the Student Council room after school over this.”

Makoto could feel the heat spilling onto her cheeks, and for a moment she was at a loss for words. “How do you know why I called you here?”

“I just had a feeling. Besides…” He nodded toward her. “Your hands are shaking.”

Flustered, she folded her arms tight and looked away. Of course he would know exactly what she wanted. She shouldn’t have even had to question it. “Look,” she said. “If you’d like to forget this ever happened and go back to class, we can do that. There’s still”—she paused to check her watch—“half an hour left in the period. I’m perfectly fine with that.”

She wasn’t, really. Or at least, she could force herself to be. It was just that she knew she’d spend the rest of the school day imagining exactly what she hoped to come for, and it was better to get it out of her system sooner rather than later. For both their sakes, perhaps.

Akira didn’t say anything at first, but he did take a step closer, and another. And he did glance down the stairs to make sure no one was around. And then he asked, “Can I be honest with you?”

Makoto nodded, maybe a little too stiffly. “Always.”

“I think…” Seeing Akira actually having to take the time to gather his words was rare, and it felt strange to relish in it. They were equal to each other most of the time, except where his charm and ease with affection far exceeded hers. It was nice for it not to, every once in a while. The only thing that put him ahead of her now was the way his voice dropped to a whisper. “I think I can spare a little more time out of class.”

Her stomach jumped, as though someone had popped open a vial of butterflies and turned them loose somewhere inside her. And her breath caught, and she barely registered how she freed her hands, how they hung in limbo between retreating to her sides and reaching out for the front of his shirt. She had to force out her reply around the nervous lump in her throat. “You do?”

Before Akira could say anything—even if it was probably “yes”—there was a scuffle of footsteps from down the hall. Makoto could feel all the color draining from her face, and she didn’t have to guess that Akira felt the same. Oh, God, it was probably a teacher going on a coffee break, half-patrolling the hallways for skippers like them, _delinquents_ like them. They’d be caught, and the whole school would know what they were up to and mock them at every opportunity, and _Sae_ would find out, and she’d never hear the end of it, if Sae even bothered to speak to her at all—

“Shhh,” Akira said, a gentle but inviting hiss. Barely hesitating, he pushed forward, flush against her yet wholly unimposing, until her back was flat against the wall and they were hidden behind a couple of gymnasium mats. They were rolled up, propped at an angle where they wouldn’t be seen in the dark, but she was still short enough to peek through the gap and know when the coast was clear.

At least, she would try to. The fact that he was close enough to feel every inch and every ridge of his torso—close enough that she could swallow every breath he didn’t hold—was dizzying. Almost as dizzying as the death grip he had on her waist. Her stomach was roiling, and her heart was fit to burst right out of her ribcage, and…

And it wasn’t one set of footsteps, but two. It wasn’t a teacher, but two students, a boy and a girl giggling and shushing each other, coming their way. The most Makoto could make out through the gap were a couple of flashes of yellow and red, and the students stumbled halfway up the steps, only getting so far before the boy pushed the girl against the wall.

Parallel to them.

Makoto’s mouth went dry. They’d be here for a while.

“Make it quick, Ryuji,” the girl whispered. Her breath hitched, and she stumbled backwards as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. “I’m already on thin ice with Ms. Chouno, and that bastard Akira’s been out of class so long, making the rest of us look… bad… oh, that's good—”

Whatever else she wanted to say melted into a muffled moan, soft and sweet, and Makoto’s eyes widened in horror.

_Ann?_

She whipped toward Akira, who looked almost as mortified as she felt, and before she could part her lips to whisper, he raised the flat of his hand to her mouth and a finger to his lips. She nodded, kept him there with a hand at his wrist—it felt oddly comforting, and even a little exciting—and willed herself to breathe as silently as she could. Akira stole a glance at his side every so often, but she couldn’t bear to. The sounds—of kissing with tongues, cursing softly, rustling and exploring, the creak of wood and the squeak that was unmistakably Ryuji lifting Ann up against the wall—were too much.

“Don’t leave another mark, you can’t,” Ann sighed—what did she mean, _another_ one? “The photographer almost had my head last time, they spent hours trying to cover it up at the shoot.”

“No promises,” Ryuji said. He had to be grinning. Internally, Makoto screamed.

_Now_ the minutes felt like hours. Really, they felt like _years._ She’d never craved death before, though she’d often felt the overwhelming need to get away from some place, but in this moment, the feeling was a strong contender. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Akira again, and on more than one occasion her eyes widened enough that she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d ruptured a blood vessel there. This was too much of a risk, it was too much of a mistake, and she had to deal with all of it on top of the constant reminder that Akira was pressed up against her, just as embarrassed and suffering just as much. And it really did feel like suffering.

Finally, _finally,_ Ann whispered, “Put me down—put me down, I’m good.”

Makoto probably would have sighed in relief if Akira weren’t still silencing her, and especially if Ryuji hadn’t laughed and replied, “ _Yeah_ you are.”

“Would you—” Ann was fumbling from the sounds of it, probably fixing her clothes and getting back on her feet. “I promised Ms. Chouno I wouldn’t be gone long, _and_ that I’d bring Akira back to class…”

Whatever conversation followed died away as they made their way down the steps and out into the hall, and from a distance a teacher snapped at them to get back to class because they were wasting precious education time. Makoto heaved a sigh once Akira pulled his hand back, and almost instantly, her face dropped into her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry this happened, we—we have to go now, don’t we?”

Akira was surprisingly quiet. “I didn’t even know they were dating,” he murmured, somewhere between curious and casual. He still hadn’t moved back. And then, “Well, that was... a mood changer.”

Really? _That_ was his response? After everything they heard? After everything he—“We have to go back to class,” she hissed. “Our teachers are looking for us, we can’t—”

“Give me a minute,” Akira whispered. “I’ll go, just give me a minute.” Slowly, his hands found hers in the dark. He laced their fingers, pinned her wrists up by her shoulders, and leaned in to touch their foreheads together. He didn’t kiss her then, but the more time he spent like this, the more she wanted him to. He only breathed her in, let his eyes flutter shut and existed in this small space with her until she felt her heart jump up to her throat with each beat, until every nerve stuttered and flickered to life under her skin and begged her to tilt her head.

“I’ll make this up to you,” he said. He released her hands, let his own skim at a turtle’s pace up her arms, along her shoulders and neck, down her torso until they were resting at her waist, and she hoped to God he’d do it again sometime. Preferably now. He was still close enough to kiss her, and he still didn’t do it. “Call me out of class again, President. I’ll come to you.”

Makoto didn’t tell him that her title weighed so sensually heavy on his tongue that she didn’t know if she never wanted to hear it again, or if she wanted to hear it all the time. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a risk if it was meticulous, but maybe it was one if there was leverage.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Twitter](www.twitter.com/omnistruck) and a [Tumblr](http://voltisubito.tumblr.com) where you can follow me! As always, thank you so so so much for reading.


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